


A Journey In My Head

by adverbally



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Dreams, F/M, MFMM Year of Quotes, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 14:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14499486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adverbally/pseuds/adverbally
Summary: Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, / The dear repose for limbs with travail tired; / But then begins a journey in my head / To work my mind, when body’s work’s expired. / For then my thoughts, from far where I abide, / Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee...While waiting for Jack to follow her to London, Phryne is plagued by dreams of him.





	A Journey In My Head

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I'm sneaking in my entry for the year of quotes just under the wire! It's not a habit I'm proud of, but it's better than breaking my streak. Inspired by Shakespeare's Sonnet 27. Writer's block was killing me on this one, so it's short and sweet. I hope it's actually suitable for public consumption!

The gloom of another London winter was familiar, at least. The oppressive clouds, the almost-constant sleet, and the slippery grey streets had barely changed since she had last been in England. It was both comforting and unsettling to Phryne. While the weather’s predictability provided some semblance of routine amidst the upheaval of her unexpected return to England, it made Phryne feel like she had traveled back in time. Suddenly, she was fifteen years younger, trapped in a toxic home and shunned by her peers in a strange country, eagerly plotting her escape to the western front. 

That old resentment for her parents stewed in her belly as she sulked around her family’s estate. Phryne was already deeply regretting her promise to stay until the new year. As the days grew shorter, so did her patience for her father’s antics and her frustration with her mother’s forgiving nature. Luckily, London provided ample opportunity for Phryne to explore the city and mingle with people who weren’t related to her.

Another version of Phryne would have been delighted to be back in London’s high society, attending glittering parties almost every night and drinking her weight in champagne. Now, though, such events exhausted her. Just the process of getting ready for an evening out seemed more trouble than it was worth, but her ennui was compounded by the people who frequented these parties. It seemed like the same introductions were made and the same stories were told at every event, which only exacerbated Phryne’s feelings of isolation.

It didn’t help that she frequently found herself scanning the crowds in search of a familiar pomaded swoop of hair. Hints of Jack Robinson were everywhere— a glimpse of a fedora on the street, the hint of a red lining in someone’s coat, the sight of broad shoulders in a well-cut suit. A truly astonishing number of men had a build similar enough to make Phryne do a double-take, though none bore even the slightest resemblance upon reexamination. 

Phryne hadn’t let herself think too deeply about Jack’s beauty until she had left him behind. While she had never doubted that he was attractive, the details seemed inconsequential when his nobility and her principles wouldn’t allow things to progress. Now, however, with offers extended and promises made, telegrams and letters exchanged and tickets purchased, she couldn’t get the image of Jack out of her mind. 

She dreamt of him in parts. The elegant slope of his nose demanded to be traced. The sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw called for her kisses. The precise style of his hair just begged to be mussed by her grip. The list went on and on, with no features too slight to escape her attention-- the dip above his upper lip, his sturdy hands with their long fingers, the fondness in his dark eyes, even the perfect shells of his ears. 

If it had just been his physical appearance, Phryne wouldn’t have been so affected by these dreams. She had known-- and _known_ \-- her share of beautiful men; a brief infatuation here and there wasn’t unusual for her, and her fascination always passed quickly enough. But Jack Robinson was more than a piercing, sparkling gaze and wry smile. Jack Robinson was determined to bring justice to his city, putting his career on the line for when the right thing was not always popular with his supervisors. Jack Robinson cared deeply, both for strangers and for his loved ones. Jack Robinson was good and kind and honest and dependable, and Phryne was fairly certain that he loved her more than she deserved. 

That was what kept Phryne up at night. She could sleep right through the dreams where his body was revealed to her inch by inch. In fact, she greatly preferred to see those through to their natural conclusion. It was the other kind of dream that woke her with an unnerving ache in her chest and unspoken words dying on her lips. 

They were always simple enough-- a quiet nightcap in her parlour or a consultation in Jack’s office, his quiet amusement and his serious face and the way he could make her title sound like an endearment and a scolding all at once. These scenes always felt more like memories, though they featured cases they had never worked and jokes they had never shared. They were about Jack as the man Phryne had fallen for rather than Jack as a body Phryne wanted to touch, and she felt the absence of Jack’s spirit much more acutely. It hurt to know that both options were equally impossible with over ten thousand miles and two months separating them.

Well, _temporarily_ impossible, Phryne reminded herself, carefully smoothing the creases from Jack’s latest letter where it lay in her lap. His own journey from Melbourne to London had finally begun, and he was due to arrive in just over a month. Even knowing when his ship was set to dock, the wait seemed interminable. 

With a resigned sigh and anticipation still burning in her veins, Phryne crawled into bed. One more month of those tortuous dreams and she would have the real thing once again-- the low rumble of Jack’s voice raising goosebumps across her skin, the comforting weight of his hand at her waist, and, hopefully, the taste of his lips against hers. One month wasn’t so long to wait, was it? It was less time than she had been in London already and more time than she would have to remain in the city after Jack arrived. She could wait that much longer. _Especially if there were a murder to occupy me,_ she thought somewhat guiltily. 

Phryne shut off her lamp, smiling at the thought of Jack’s reaction to such a sentiment. She could see it in person in just a month. Four weeks. Thirty days. No time at all. 

She closed her eyes and waited for the dreams to come again.


End file.
